The Past is not Prologue
by RuthieGreen
Summary: ***Spoiler alert for S12-E12 "Six of the Best." How much of William's past still plays a part of his present? Small vignette to get writing again-Enjoy-rg


**The Past is Not Prologue**

(An interstitial scene from S12-E12 "Six of the Best")

…

" _ **William? William… Are you all right?"**_

Julia's voice interrupted the unbidden memory flashing over him. After a moment to collect himself, he turned away from sightlessly staring out the window, trying not to worry Julia with his disquiet. He could still hear the wooden door close behind Brother Duvalier, trapping them together in that small room. He could still feel cold air over his exposed back and buttocks, his muscles trembling and tensing, the dread, humiliation and fear mixing painfully in his gut. William had to will himself to breathe in because the recollection refused to dissipate like the ghost it surely was.

" _ **I couldn't fall asleep and I didn't want to disturb you,"**_ he offered as a bland excuse.

Of course, Julia had noticed he'd been more stilted than usual in the sort of polite social interactions required of a host. _Even for me,_ he thought. Whilst they were undressing for bed, she had made a joke about her cooking being the cause, and he had reassured her that the meat was cooked and the vegetables were hot, so he had no complaints about her foray into the kitchen. And that was true….

Knowing he'd been quiet all evening, he'd not told her his stomach had been upset since supper - an otherwise fine meal refusing to be swallowed or digest properly. In fact, William felt an odd distance most of the evening, as if his surroundings were not quite real or that he himself was not quite present, merely an observer of his own thoughts and behavior. He suspected the problem was building just underneath his awareness ever since he'd seen Brother Duvalier again, with the full experience ambushing him at the dinner table a few hours ago.

" _ **It disturbs me when you are not here in bed with me. Come back…"**_

Julia's inviting voice lured him to try and replace his waking nightmare with the warm softness she was offering. He got under the covers and settled his head on her shoulder, his arms wrapping her while she embraced him. His right ear listened for the beat of her heart, his nose inhaled her sandalwood scent to reassure himself of her physical presence. He thought that seemed to help a bit, but his whirring mind would not cooperate, which in turn tightened his chest while he fought with himself to exhale.

Julia seemed to sense that, and moved her arm to stroke his back and shoulder. "You are so knotted up, William. You are stiff as a board," she said in a low, gentle tone. She continued to smooth her hand over his flesh, making no demand of him, just patiently holding him.

Yet William's brain churned. He considered asking her to make love with him, that being the only time in his daily life when his mind was utterly free. It was tempting to use a physical release to obliterate his thoughts…but it also seemed wrong to do so. More than wrong….the desire to seek physical pleasure seemed tainted with shame tonight somehow, in a way he did not understand. Indeed everything seemed off kilter.

William hated feeling out of control.

Instead he said, "I am all right…" keeping the complaint and doubt out of his voice the best he could manage. _Can I tell her what is disturbing me? All of it…?_

William unconsciously shook his head, confirming to Julia that all was not well with her husband. Several more minutes went by with them lying quietly together, neither able to sleep now. William's inner turmoil threatened to throw him back out of bed and away from her, which made no sense to him either.

Julia stirred beside him, a wordless, open invitation to let the moment pass or continue as he wished, all without her judgement. To him, it felt like… _love._

That simple kindness broke him open...

"The… first...time…" he said in a tentative, cracked whisper, "was because I was late to Morning Mass. I'd been sent to work in the garden digging new rows for vegetables in the sod. It was dirty work before breakfast…I was the farthest away from the rest of the boys and then last out of the wash-house." William stopped. He knew that was an unnecessary elaboration, and a way to avoid. He also heard his own childish excuse for tardiness bubble up 35 years or more after the fact. He kept his face buried in her chest and forced his lungs to move. "I slipped in just as the introductory rites began. Brother Duvalier noticed. When Mass was over he told me to come to his room after supper that night. I spent all day in dread. My own father had been a drunken, violent, man full of threats and rage even if he never actually beat us and we were always on edge, never knowing when he'd explode next. That was difficult enough. This…this... _anticipation_ …was worse." His mouth dried up. He tried to concentrate on Julia's soothing touch. "Deliberate, cold, relentless when he..." William's impulse to disclose was shut off from somewhere deep inside of him. He prayed she understood.

"…When he beat you," Julia finished for him, adding her own sigh of compassion. "I imagine you were never late again?"

William shook his head. "Of course I was. Someone is always last. There is always something that needs correction or chastisement. Something that is not perfect…" He cleared his throat, unaware he was speaking in the present tense. "It seems to me in retrospect that Brother Duvalier did more than impose order with his cane."

"I am aware that corporal punishment has been used for centuries and that some still believe it to be a sign of good and Godly parenting," Julia said with disapproval. "My own governess struck me and Ruby, tied our hands behind our backs, made us kneel for our transgressions, at least until Mother put a stop to it. It seems to me Brother Duvalier took a role he relished a bit too far. I suppose I should not be surprised as the Church has historically been a strong proponent of physical punishment, severity largely being a priestly view…but how did Father Keegan allowed this?" Julia wondered.

William thought about _that_ again, remembering all the times he struggled with it before with the same dissonance he heard in Julia's question. "I am not sure he knew, and if he knew I am not sure he disapproved of it, at least in principle. In any case I...I never said. I guess I instinctively knew better. Other boys who complained to a teacher or to their families were often beaten a second time for lying or for daring to complain, or for getting into trouble in the first place…"

He tried to really feel her fingers on him, kneading at the spasms in his back. "Of course if one stayed out of Brother Duvalier's sights, then one was a target for the other lads who were bullies," William shifted position a bit. "They'd get punished and immediately find someone else to take it out on."

"And you?" she asked. He thought she was trying to keep him talking, knowing that it was going to be better to get this hurt out than hold it in. As silence settled over them, Julia let William sort through his memories and feelings.

William only heard Julia's question with a slice of his awareness. The uncooperative puzzle pieces in his mind were making some connections. For the first time he considered the possibility that Brother Duvalier could be responsible for Wesley Seaver's death. Perhaps Duvalier's enthusiasm for corporal punishment had warped over the years? _Indeed warped_ _him_ , _over the years_ …. _and spilled into rage?_ William's hand jerked against Julia's thigh.

"Sorry," he said automatically.

Julia brought her head close to his ear. "And _you_ , William?"

So many memories flipped through his brain like a disjointed kinetoscope of single images linked together in no underlying narrative but one: Violence in his life. His own father…Brother Duvalier… Father O'Brien…boxing as an outlet in secondary school… the times he'd punched a perpetrator… knocked Darcy down to the ground… William had no idea how long he'd been stuck in his head when he was jolted into a new, terrifying awareness:

 _What about my own rage? Julia is always trying to get me to let go, give myself over to my passions. Were my passions beaten out of me as a child? Any exuberance roughly extinguished? Or did I need to be beaten into civility because of that same anger?_ His stomach lurched, remembering the sparring between Julia and Duvalier at the table. _Perhaps I myself am a warped by-product of Brother Duvalier's brutality?_

William's shoulders bunched again. _Have I no free will, no ability to change?_ He squeezed his eyes shut, preventing a tear from forming. I _have_ to know, just _have_ to know….

His thick voice burrowed up from the covers. "Julia, do you really believe that it is irreparable harm that is done to a child who has been beaten? Some kind of permanent damage…?" Hands clenched, he listened harder for her heart, wondering if that simple beat would confirm the truth of her words to absolve –or condemn—him.

She placed her hand tenderly in his hair and along his cheek. "All our experiences have the power to change us, William. But it is never _what_ happens: it is how we _interpret_ the experience, what we have learned from it. You know we are all capable of learning _new_ things, of experimenting, of reinterpreting the data... I cannot say if Brother Duvalier scarred you or not, but I can say that you are who you are due to the cumulative effects of your life experiences, your values and maturity," she said. "Besides…what sort of petty man tries to appropriate another's successes?" Julia paused and held him tightly. "If Brother Duvalier wants to take credit for you, I'd say it is just a likely that you are who you are in spite of him!" she declared.

William found her eyes in the moonlight of their bedroom, and he knew what she said was true. He positively melted under her affection, grateful to finally let go of the awful tension he'd been carrying. He was now wholly with her in the present, in their bed, in their own house. He stretched out along her body, and moved to share a blissful kiss.

"Good night, William."

"Yes. It is…"

 **-END-**

 **A/N: I kept waiting for William to have some sort of specific flare up at Brother Duvalier, since that was hinted at by one of the interviews about the episode before it was aired. The very last scene in the jail where Duvalier tried to take credit again for W's character was just the place for W to have said he is the man he is in spite of Duvalier…but he would not need to be defensive if he'd already worked that out with Julia….hence the inspiration for this story. I have been stuck in the middle of setting up another story with Fallenbelle, so maybe this will blow the pipes open, eh?**

…..

The internet is a wonderful thing. Look up J.J. Kelso—he was a kinda cool dude.

"… _[At the 1894] Conference on the protection children in Toronto… John Kelso [advocated] counseling for love, studying the child's character, using patience and individual attention although did not exclude reasonable corporal punishment…. Severity was predominately the priestly view…. Beating a child when they deserved it was a sign of good parenting…."_ _ **Abuse or Punishment?: Violence toward Children in Quebec Families, 1850 – 1969 Marie-Aimee Cliché, Donald Wilson (Translator)**_

… _ **..**_


End file.
